Bloodshot

Dearest Rachel –

You probably remember that when I’m sick, I sneeze at two different volumes. When it’s unrestrained, it’s loud enough to be heard anywhere in the house – and probably for several houses down – and it’s practically yelled out, as if I’d hit my thumb with a hammer or something. More often, though, I try to suppress it, which goes off like a grenade under a pile of pillows. Often, when I did that, you would express concern that I might burst a blood vessel by holding it in so tightly. Now, while I could certainly feel the pressure of the latter type when they went off, I found your fears to be somewhat amusing in how you envisioned the worse case scenario in such an over-the-top way. It never occurred to me that it would actually be possible.

But it seems that your concerns may have been justified, albeit to a very limited extent. After a particularly percussive sneeze, I went to blow my nose – and while I know it’s an established breach of etiquette to do so, I had to know – and discovered that I was bleeding out my left nostril. It would seem that your concerns were, in fact, justified.

Thankfully, too, the moment has passed as of this morning. Sure, my nose in running like it’s training for the Chicago marathon (and I need to remind it that I’m still not doing that), and my eyes make me look like an extra from a Cheech and Chong movie (which, now that the stuff is legal, aren’t funny anymore, if they ever were – I wish I could check with Kevin about his opinion on that), and I still feel like there’s a mask, tightly affixed to my face from forehead to chin, pressing back on my skull. But at 98.2ºF, it doesn’t qualify as a fever, so it’s little more than the usual incapacitating cold.

Emphasis on ‘incapacitating’; this basically means that I really shouldn’t be doing much or going anywhere today – not that I feel like either at the moment (but I know I will eventually). It also involves a bit of regret for having pushed through Monday when this was building up behind me; I’m hoping I don’t prove to be a vector for whatever it is Daniel and I are dealing with. Granted, I at least I know I don’t qualify as Patient Zero for it or anything, and if it burns itself out in a day or two, it won’t be anything more than a blip interrupting the rest of my life (albeit the only thing going on that’s worthy of comment for today).

But while in the throes of it, I hardly need to tell you how uncomfortable (to put in mildly) this is. We do tend to forget when we get back into the pink of health (you mean like my eyes?) as to how bad it feels; we tell ourselves that it wasn’t all that bad. But in the midst of it, the only thing that keeps us from thinking we’re on the verge of death is that we’re forced to admit that we don’t know what that really feels like; those that do, like yourself, don’t generally return to explain it to the rest of us. That, and I’m still ambulatory, and I’m able to keep writing to you about it all. I know I’ll recover, but I’d just as soon get it over with.

As a sideline, I’d thought there was some proverb that only idiots get colds in the summer (after all, it’s the opposite of cold out; how do you manage it? That, and you ruin your vacation time, when you’re in school). It turns out that the proverb is that idiots don’t get colds at all, either because they don’t have a brain to get sick, or they obstinately refuse to acknowledge that they’re sick. So I guess I can take comfort in the fact that, as dumb as it feels to be sick at this time of year, neither Daniel nor I are idiots.

Then again, there’s something to be said for it…

In any event, there won’t be much to watch of us today, honey, but if you could keep an eye on us, and wish us luck, we’d still appreciate it. After all, we need it more than usual.